Tempest
by La Voz de Alma
Summary: For the first time he understood: this had never been about a student with an illogical 'crush' on her unobtainable professor...This had nothing to do with power or authority; she was as in love with him as he was with her." !Thanks for all the support!
1. Chapter One Fog

_Chapter Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. All original works belong to their respective authors. Many thanks to the creative geniuses Mark Twain, Henry David Thoreau, Rene Descartes, and Pablo Neruda._

Chapter One - Fog

"_The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco_," Commander Spock ruefully considered the words of Terran writer, Mark Twain, as he bunched the high collar of his Starfleet issue winter coat more tightly about his neck. Half Moon Bay, a mere 40 kilometers from San Francisco, was an ideal location for cadets to practice shuttle landings on amphibious terrain. The scarlet gaggle of cadets scurrying across the charcoal gray sand mostly consisted of third year cadets – and some rather ambitious second years. Summer sessions were optional, but _strongly encouraged _ to ensure advancement. 'July,' he thought wryly, 'is usually considered a summer month in North America.' It was only 15 Celsius.

Even in the late afternoon, steely fog clung to the shoreline, smothering the daylight in its embrace. Ethereal cascades of pallid wisps veiled the sharp, threatening cliffs to the north and south of the crescent-shaped bay. Henry David Thoreau would have happily resigned himself to the dangerous beauty.

There was some concern shared among the officers regarding the safety of the cadets in the deceptively peaceful bay. Generally summer sessions were lighthearted, and this supplemental course on Applied Tactics, would normally be the same. Spock, mused however, today would not be one to let his guard down. He listened with tentative enthusiasm to the trilling cadet excitement below. He wrestled once more over why he was really here on this weekend "field trip" as one cadet humorously observed. Glancing again to a growing cluster of indigo clouds on the horizon, Spock resumed his attentive watch of the tiny figures busy on the beach. There were seventy cadets – one cadet company leader, three squad leaders, three flagmen and sixty three underclassmen – all accounted for.

From his elevated vantage point on the time-worn boardwalk, the Commander observed eager cadets scurry in and out of the decommissioned shuttles scattered across the beach. They reminded him of small flocks of cranes inanely coursing in and away from each other. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood rigidly, and the breeze tugging defiantly at uniform contrasted with his otherwise stilled form. A dark, motionless figure, Spock looked like a sentinel guarding a precious treasure, while tourists – and the rest of the world – seemed to pass in brilliant streaking blurs. The heavy thunder of standard issue combat boots produced the most curious, high octave ring against the alloy of the access ramps. A ruffling gust of wind tugged at his coat hem aggressively, and Spock began to wonder why he even volunteered to supervise this exercise. The cool air crept across his once warmed skin, stealing the breath from his lungs momentarily. Heavy drops of mist had begun to rest on his shoulders and nose.

A musical laugh carried across the sand on a whirlwind, and Spock's ears perked in response. The delightful notes were familiar; a tiny smile spread across his lips. Toppled beside a shuttle access ramp, two female students, limbs entangled from the fall, laughed and pushed each other jovially. 'Perhaps I should attend to them,' he thought, 'to ensure no serious injury.' Spock fought back the nagging thought reminding him there were competent medics on standby for such an incident. He was the Officer in Charge, however, surely it was his responsibility to guarantee the safety of the cadets under his command. He descended the stone steps gracefully to the soggy sand below, his eyes never leaving the source of laughter.

The two cadets had already pulled themselves to their feet by the time Spock reached his destination. Dark clumps of wet sand and masses of long, damp hair clung to the young women. He stood in awe, never before seeing them behave so casually. Stiffly he asked, "Are you injured?" The laughing stopped as abruptly as glass shattering upon concrete, and he was greeted by wide-eyed salutes. "No, sir," they responded shakily. "At ease, cadets," Spock suddenly was aware of his tangible presence, having forgotten himself from his previously discrete vantage point.

He allowed himself three-point-one seconds to enjoy this oddly familiar scene. Nyota Uhura and Gaila Boeotia were adept cadets, entering their third year, had been enrolled in his xenolinguistics courses the previous semester. On several instances, Cadet Uhura had fallen victim to collisions with Cadet Boeotia, resulting from the latter's sudden and abrupt halt to observe a male cadet. This was likely the cause of today's mishap as well. He generally considered Cadet Boeotia to be a rather undisciplined, silly young woman – but no more than his other Orion students. The whole of Orion culture seemed to defy his Vulcan sensibilities; it wasn't an opinion so much as an observation.

It seemed shocking that Cadet Uhura would share a domicile with such a student; a familiar face in the language laboratory, Spock had taken pleasure in many conversations with _Nyota._ He sighed inwardly at the unprofessional, albeit silent, interjection of her given name. They had grown rather comfortable within the sanctuary of their friendship; he enjoyed it so much Spock worried his thoughts might one day betray both of them by revealing his less than professional desires for her.

Now, staring at the mess of wet hair and rumbled uniforms before him, Spock forcefully suppressed the urge to reach out and push the heavy locks hanging haphazardly over Nyota's face. He blinked twice, wrenching himself out of his momentary stupor, realizing the Orion was addressing him, "Sir, it was my fault, I was…distracted." While in general she seemed a bit of a dreamer, Cadet Boeotia seemed like a good natured woman and nevertheless received high accolades in the Computer Science Department: attributes he could respect. "If no damage has been done, then I believe the Terran phrase is, "accidents happen," Spock saw no reason to reprimand them at this time. "However, I do think it appropriate that you both return to your loggings for clean attire; we should always do our best to represent Starfleet respectfully, especially as we are away from campus," Spock added. Gesturing their dismissal, he said, "Please be sure to join the rest of the cadets for dinner at 1630 hours."

As the women turned to leave the beach, Spock caught Nyota glancing up at him. He lost himself in the trance of her gaze; her eyes were so dark but the tiny flecks of glinting amber light told of hidden secrets. He wondered if this is how Terran sailors felt, their eyes falling upon sirens before coming to an untimely end. Illogically he considered how much she reminded him of the devastatingly beautiful goddesses depicted in the wide breadth of mythology he had read. According the texts, men all over the galaxy had found themselves lost in their love for unobtainable women.

"Professor, perhaps you would like to share your thoughts on the newest volume of the Romulan Linguistic Quarterly Journal after dinner? We have free time this evening," _Cadet Uhura _requested. "Yes, I believe that would be enjoyable," Spock responded without hesitation. Watching them disappear into the settling fog, the Commander realized he had not felt the chill of the coastal winds for several minutes. 'Fascinating,' he thought to himself. His internal clock indicated that the exercise would be coming to an end shortly. Spock looked over the sea of red uniforms once more, and then turned in the direction of the hotel. 'Perhaps this weekend excursion would be worth the cold, gray weather after all,' he thought, slowly coursing his way over the heavy, dark sand. As his foot met the first step, Spock heard the cadet leaders call their squads to "attention."


	2. Chapter 2 Clouds

Chapter Two – Clouds

"…_Three: I am a thinking entity which does not require the existence of my physical body…Four: Oekon can create a thinking entity independent from the body…Five: I know my body is merely an extension…Six: Oekon created a body separate from the mind and katra…Seven: My mind and katra are distinct realities from my body…" _A Vulcan translation of Rene Descartes' "Sixth Meditation" pounded in Spock's consciousness as his legs found a steady rhythm on the treadmill. For the first time in many months Surak's meditations failed to alleviate his illogical want. Spock was relieved to find the hotel had an athletic center. His body demanded more than a simple release for the purpose of physical fitness.

While this rudimentary method for satiation was satisfactory, it also reminded him that his self-control and logic were failing him. This weekend was proving more challenging than he had anticipated. Spock squeezed his eyes together tightly, pushing the bright artificial light out of his mind, focusing only on the meditations and the grinding sound of the treadmill. There were no other guests using the facilities at this hour, the bland eggshell room had been abandoned by them for the purpose of seeking out dinner. Spock knew he would have to soon prepare to join the other officers and cadets in the dining room. As he neared the end of his mediation he became suddenly aware of another presence; like a new source of gravity.

Slowly he opened his eyes; long, heavy lashes temporarily blocking his view. The warm scent of a woman flooded his olfactory receptors and his stomach tightened in response. 'She's here,' he thought allowing his peripheral vision to scan the room. In the far corner a lithe form stretched and balanced before the long wall mirror. Nyota was lost in her own distant thoughts it seemed as she gracefully lifted one leg, breathing deeply for several moments. Releasing her limb she repeated the action with the other. It was apparent from the fluidity of her movements this exercise was a second nature, as it would for any dancer. For the first time Spock considered he knew very little of his friend's hobbies.

He knew he was staring, but her magnetism over took him. His pace has slowed to a quick march as he watched the elegant pose of the woman before him. She arched her back, arms raised above her head. The long, lean line of her body was pulled taught like a bow poised for attack. Without warning, her lids fluttered open and she looked directly into his eyes. "Commander, did you have a question?" her words suggested a serious inquiry, but her tone seemed almost playful.

Spock yanked the vulgarly yellow emergency release key from the treadmill, fearing he would otherwise lose his balance and incur injury. She took several long strides, closing the distance between them. While Spock understood Cadet Uhura to be rather tall for a woman, his height always still seemed to diminish her. Now, as he towered over her on the treadmill platform, her frame wrapped in a thin garment clearly meant to hug the body, she looked even smaller. She cocked her head to the side, waiting for a response. He felt his lips part to answer, but no sound sprung from them. 'How many times has she caught my gaze?' he wondered. Could she see his hunger for her? How many times had his human eyes betrayed him? Her mouth was moving again, shaking him from his temporary reverie. Her hand reached up, grazing his cheek, "Spock, what's wrong?"

The moment Nyota's finger pads brushed his face, Spock's blood felt as though it were boiling. It was not the first time she had touched him in an affectionate way, often stroking his arm or smoothing his hair, however, this was the first time she had intentionally caressed his face. They had never discussed Vulcan social decorum, and there was no way she could have known how intimate her action was. He could feel adoration, curiosity, and something overwhelming that could not be categorized. Spock grasped her wrist, more roughly than he intended; she gasped. "Spock..." confusion painted her face. "Please, Nyota, there is no need for concern; I am simply exhausted from exertion," Spock couldn't believe how much it sounded like a lie. His head was swimming in the essence of her. It was like the scent after a storm; the warm, wet rain and the sharp fire of lightening. The smell had begun to mix with his own fragrance, clinging to the walls of his mind. A dark thought passed through his consciousness, 'I think this is how we would smell together.' Just as the whim had come, it was gone; smothered once more by Spock's more rational self.

Nyota's eyes were wide; she glanced to his face then to her trapped wrist and once more to meet his gaze. "Yes, of course, Commander. Perhaps we could meet after dinner for our discussion in the lounge?" she was playing along. Self-consciously releasing his grasp, Spock cleared his throat, "Cadet, it may be best to do so elsewhere. It would be more discrete. If you agree, I will meet you by the pool entrance, and we will walk to a nearby destination from there," he hoped the words did not sound as sordid as they did in his head. "Yes, sir. I will see you at 1900 hours," Nyota replied. After a heavy silence, Spock stepped down from the equipment, brushing past her as he left. Although he dared not look back, he felt her confusion at his back.


	3. Chapter 3 Thunder

Chapter Three – Thunder

Spock carefully buttoned the last closure of his uniform, finding his skin still seemed to ache from the failure of the cold shower he had just taken. As a cadet he has once overheard a conversation between two young men about using this technique to decrease their unsatiated sexual arousal (although they used far more 'colorful language.') The biting chill of the water spray only seemed to further sensitize his flesh, and images of his scantily dressed friend were becoming a rather overbearing distraction. Now, as he shifted in the heavy woolen coat and pants he considered his attire to be rather bothersome. Quickly he shed the offending coat, looking towards his canvas bag for civilian clothing.

His fingers grazed the soft cotton of a turtleneck shirt he had packed. Paired with a well-worn sweater, Spock felt slightly more at ease. At least his skin no longer felt enflamed. Perhaps some of his anxiety was in part to due to the notice he received from Starfleet upon entering his hotel room. As he has suspected, the dark clouds forming over the horizon were a concern. A large storm system was traveling from the southwest, and was expected to come inland sometime over the course of the evening. While there was no immediate danger, it meant the following day's beach exercises would have to be cancelled in favor of literature studies indoors. Also, a curfew had been put in place for cadets to be inside the hotel by 2100 hours. Notes regarding these new circumstances had been forwarded to the other officers present as well as the cadet squad leaders.

Smoothing down some errant hairs hanging over his eyebrows, Spock gave himself a final inspection. The monochromatic selection made his appearance more stark than usual. His skin, which often looked rather human, revealed its more Vulcan properties, a fair green cast splashed across his cheeks. Looking back at the heavy coat hanging in the closet, he straightened, reminding himself this was a logical selection of attire for a casual evening.

Upon entering the dining room, Spock found relief in realizing that nearly every officer and cadet present had also opted for civilian clothing. Selecting a salad from the buffet, he found a seat among the officers. They were regaling each other in exaggerated tales from their academy days. From time to time, Spock would lift his head, nod in agreement, and then resume his consumption of the only available vegetarian cuisine. The room was what he would have expected: high ceilings, neutral colored walls and equally nondescript carpeting. It clearly was designed to accommodate any number of functions, he discerned, from the suspended projector, a large wooden patch he assumed to be a dance floor, and a podium pushed into a dark corner.

The crowd of cadets seemed to be enjoying themselves. Spock observed many of them had opted to sit in the same social groups as they did at the academy. A rather boisterous male cadet was standing, hands waving wildly in the air, dramatically telling a story. To his right was a familiar, vibrant face. Cadet Boeotia's chin was perched on her clasped hands, enthralled by Cadet Kirk's performance.

A sudden roar from the other end of the officers' table drew Spock's attention as he deducted a colleague had just spilled a large quantity of coffee onto himself. He unconsciously quirked an eyebrow in response, then returned his gaze to the room. Cadet Kirk was now using his chair for a prop. A soft groan carried over the roar of the room. Spock noticed a cascade of dark hair covering a place next to Cadet Boeotia. '_Nyota,'_ he thought. She was clearly less awed by the theatrics at her table than her roommate, who was now practically swooning.

An impulse entered Spock's mind, splintering with a dozen reasons to approach the table. Illogical, egotistical and brimming testosterone, he knew what transpired next was an unnecessary display of masculinity. Weaving between the crowded tables, the thunderous room seemed to be rendered silent. He could see Nyota's bare arms covering her head as Cadet Kirk continued to display his plumage to his captive audience. "Cadet, the improper use of furniture is in violation of Code and poorly represents Starfleet. Please be seated!" Spock growled at the lesser-ranked man. Using his unabashed authority, he moved into the cadet's personal space, forcing him to sit properly. Cadet Kirk's apologetic utterance was barely audible to his peers, but certainly loud enough to the Vulcan's extra-sensitive ears.

Satisfied with the cadet's corrected behavior, the Commander decided he had sufficient nourishment for the evening. He resisted the urge to acknowledge Nyota's stare as he took leave of the table. It would take sufficient time to meditate before their evening engagement and he did not want to waste any time returning to his room. As he exited the once more roaring crowd Spock tried to push more images out of his head: Nyota's smooth brown shoulders, her long hair wild...and spread over the starched white sheets of his bed. 'Yes, I need to meditate,' he confirmed.


	4. Chapter 4 Rain

Chapter Four – Rain

The chilled day had grown into an even cooler evening. Spock stood just beneath the awning watching a fine drizzle of rain tumble gently to the earth. The pale orange glow of sunset crawled higher into the sky, glinting a skewed reflection over the brilliant blue swimming pool. He had experienced precipitation so infrequently as a child it still remained a novelty. His meditations were more successful after dinner, finally seeking that much coveted 'center.' Now he grew excited at the prospect of discussing the significance of Vulcan poetic memes with Cadet Uhura. It had been the subject of several articles in the Romulan Linguistic Quarterly Journal.

A mechanical propulsion of air indicated to Spock the door behind him had opened. He did not turn, rather he steeled himself, hoping to display far more becoming behavior than he had early in the day. Her essence greeted him first; the sharp smell of fresh soap was present, however that which was entirely her still caused his stomach to coil. Turning his head, Spock looked down to find Nyota looking up at him. "Where share we go, Commander?" she smiled openly at him.

"There is a coffee shop on the boardwalk, perhaps you would like the venture there this evening for our discussion," Spock found its location on the pier to be rather appealing. She didn't answer, just smiled wider and nodded. They stepped into the gentle mist, the tiny drops instantly clinging to them. He couldn't help but admire how his friend's hair caught the moisture like tiny quartz crystals; the warm glow of dusk like a crown around her head. They walked in silence, Spock leading her with the simple push and pull of his stride. By the time they had reached their destination the sun had sunk even lower on the horizon.

"Wow, I didn't realize how big the storm is," Nyota approached the railing, pointing at the deeply bruised sky. The tempest's presence was no longer a blemish in the distance, rather a commanding entity. "Yes, that is why Starfleet was so specific about the change in scheduled activities," Spock responded. Then he suggested, "Maybe we should go inside where it is warm and dry." He was rewarded with another nod. Spock couldn't help but notice Nyota's unusually quiet behavior. Pulling from the railing, they entered the small dome-shaped building, both glancing back to see the approaching storm once more.

It was rather sparse inside the tiny cafe, but the warmth and smell of fresh pastries were welcoming. The white-washed stucco walls were lined with photographs of local treasures: the original twentieth-century cafe building, catches of impressive fish, scout troops, infamous sea lions and smiling neighbors. Taking a seat by the window, Nyota looked again at the ominous clouds; he sat directly across from her. Spock permitted himself a moment to study her in such a state of transfixion. She wore a brilliant red sweater with large toggles elegantly draped over a thin white camisole blouse; her hair now hung in long waves. In the warm orange light her skin was even more luminous. 'Siren,' he thought, 'she will be my undoing.'

"Spock, would you like to get some hot chocolate?" her question was asked of the window pane, and he was thankful for it. He imagined in that moment his ears must have burned bright green, because they certainly felt that way. The words escaped him, and after several long moments she noticed. Nyota's eyebrows crunched together tightly, "No hot chocolate for you?" it wasn't so much a question as it was an accusation. "Nyota, it is a very kind gesture, however, your limited understanding of Vulcan social decorum has created a rather compromising situation..." Spock chose his words gently. Her head tilted again, indicating her interest. "You must remember while there are many similarities between us, I am half-Vulcan. And while I believe your offer was that to share the pleasure of a hot beverage, it also has other...interpretations. You will have to excuse my surprise," he hoped these were the right words.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Spock. But you are correct, since it is rather cool I thought it would be a nice experience to share," Nyota also seemed to be selecting her words carefully. "However, I would like to understand what it is I asked of you," she added. Spock's heart rate increased and his blood felt like hot lead in his veins, "Nyota..." He closed his mouth, and thought for a moment. Without another word, he stood and joined her on the other side of the table. Placing his hands safely in his lap, Spock started once more in a low whisper; his lips centimeters from her ear. He spoke softly, as though the words would be less dangerous this way, "Nyota I am sure you know that Vulcans are known to abstain from the consumption of spirits. This is because alcohol does not create the same euphoric experience as it does in humans...However, there are other foods that do," his voice was straining now. "The offer of chocolate is an invitation to such an experience. For Vucans it is intoxicating, and it also makes us rather...'affectionate'," Spock rushed the last word like grabbing something hot from the stove.

He turned his head to look at her. Her cheeks were dark and her eyes wide. There was

shock, and what nearly looked like arousal to him, but he suppressed that last thought. He worried that she was becoming confused by her role as student, and he as her professor. The words sounded strained as they struggled from her throat, "I believe there is a lot I do not know about Vulcan life." Spock hoped she could see the understanding in his eyes, "Nyota, there is much we can learn from each other. Is that not why we are here tonight?" A wide smile stretched across her face, "Oh, and I thought we were here so I could make obscene sexual advances towards you." Her familiar musical laugh followed, like cheerful chimes caught in a spring breeze. His ears felt hot and he knew his eyebrows, which apparently had a social life all of their own, had risen quite high on his forehead. "Spock, it was a joke. It's okay," she assured him with a smile still in her voice.

"Perhaps tea, Nyota," he suggested, trying to calm himself. She seemed to sense his discomfort immediately. "Of course," she agreed, motioning to the waitress. Spock enjoyed the closeness of sitting next to her and was thankful she had not asked him to return to his seat. Her essence was creeping into his consciousness again; he felt inebriated, lost in her spell. It wasn't until the sharp, sweet aroma of peppermint plundered his perceptions did he realize Nyota had not only placed an order, but it had arrived. A small hand brushed his arm, "Hey, where are you?" The answer, 'Lost in you,' somehow seemed inappropriate to Spock. "I am here, Nyota. Where else would I be?" he knew it was obtuse.

"Okay, if you say so," she smiled again, taking a tiny sip from the steaming cup. She was respecting his need for discretion, and he appreciated it. "Nyota, I noticed there were several articles focused on poetic memes, would you like to discuss that?" the warm liquid that followed seemed to further ignite the fire inside of him. "Yes, I also noticed the connection between the articles. Though, I am more amazed by the many examples of Vulcan poetry. For such a secretive culture, the sample sizes were huge," her eyes conveyed awe. Spock watched as she sipped her tea again, her face flushing at the heat. She was a wonderful companion; her sharp intelligence and naturally curious personality were refreshing qualities.

"Poetry, while not emphasized like mathematics or the sciences, is still part of a Vulcan child's instruction. It is often used in our meditations. I am not surprised by the volume of primary material so much as the number of Vulcans willing to disclose such personal information with Roluman xenologists," he responded. He had anticipated this inquiry. In preparation for this evening, Spock had considered responses to the most probable questions and observations Nyota would present; his wavering self-control made this imperative. "Is it really?" her question had no humor this time, but a small hand found its way under the table and gently rested on his leg. The corner of her mouth trembled as if trying to resist the urge to produce a full smile. She was waiting for his response to her gesture.

Spock grasped his cup roughly, swallowing the remainder of the tepid tea; he was trying to douse the flames her small fingers had ignited. A familiar twitch drew his attention, hoping she didn't notice. 'What's happening to me?' he begged himself. 'I am a logical, rationally-minded Vulcan. I have spent numerous occasions with Nyota, why should tonight – this weekend – be any different' the questions flooded his head. He felt himself hit a wall he did not realize he had been swiftly approaching. 'I'm consumed with my desire for her, and she is unaware of the sincerity of my intentions,' he mused to himself. "Nyota, I need some fresh air," he made his announcement as he pulled himself from his seated position as though he had never stood before. He tugged the hem of his sweater, hoping to conceal what he was sure Nyota had already noticed. Approaching the counter, he paid the owed credits for their beverages, and then continued his hasty escape.


	5. Chapter 5 Wind

Chapter Five – Wind

Spock broke free of the cafe door, the violent purple evening coming into clear view. The rain fell more heavily now, but failed to cool his fevered skin. He turned to watch Nyota follow him outside. Without a word he strolled around to the back of the cafe, rounding the perimeter of the building. The pier, completely abandoned by the rest of the sensible world seeking shelter, seemed to jut provocatively far into the ocean. The storm was nearly upon them now; the heavy darkness swallowed the last remaining light from the sky; not a single star shone. She had followed him to the end of the old pier, the wood gnarled and rough.

"Nyota, Vulcans are very much like the planet we call home. On the surface we are dry, stable, emotionless...but under the surface there are volatile currents that sometimes erupt revealing our concealed passions," he needed to take control. He watched her siren face framed with her hair wildly dancing in the wind. "We like maintaining a demeanor of logic and control; for so many anonymous Vulcans to disclose such openly emotive writing seems so...illogical," his breathing had finally slowed. For the first time since his meditative exertions he felt like a reasonable, composed man. "They are not simply beautiful words and fanciful ideas. Everything, every word, every meme has meaning," he was in control again.

She looked to him for a long moment, then over her shoulder to the storm. A low rumble of thunder broke from the clouds, and her body visibly shook. Her eyes met his, moist and dark, "Explain," she demanded. This was not the first time she had challenged him; it was often part of their game, but it was different tonight. She was different. While she was calm on the surface, Nyota seemed restless, demanding. As the wind now whipped at their clothing, it howled like a beast in heat. Spock moved in closer, his head tilted to her ear, his lips nearly touching her skin. "As you must have noticed, 'teshan' – awe, and 'ashaya' – love, both appear in the primary sources frequently. Consider, Nyota, the meme 'sha,' you know it to be the possessive pronoun "mine." One could conclude that since the formation of Vulcan language that both "awe" and "love" have been integrated in our cultural consciousness as an affliction; one that is entirely possessed by the individual," his breathing was labored once more. He could not help but grow excited by this line of discussion, and from her moist parted lips and increased respiration, Nyota seemed aroused, too.

Thunder ripped through the night, hungry and consuming. Their clothes were wet from the torrents of summer rain. She shuddered against him, causing the velvety ridge of her ear to brush against his lips. 'Too close,' he thought as he felt want; for the first time, thought, it was not his own. Instead of pulling away immediately, he pressed his lips more firmly to Nyota's ear, kissing it before retreating a bit. She craned her neck towards his, her eyes accusing. He could feel her breath against his neck; it was much more rapid than before. "Of course, it makes more sense now. Thank you for explaining...the difference," her voice was low, and dripped with dark eroticism. Spock no longer resisted the coiling tightness in his stomach, "Nyota, there are other differences. Would you like me to explain more?" He hoped she would take the bait although he knew he was the one who had been hooked. His lips still burned; the taste of her intoxicating.

"Yes, Spock. Please..." she reached forward, her fingers touching his. The electricity sparked between their digits as a long, blinding crack of lighting filled the air. He grabbed her hand tightly, holding it up for her to see. He slid his fingers against hers, palms pressed together, index and middle fingers aligned; they shared a sudden intake of breath. "This, 'ozh'esta,' would be indecent on Vulcan, Nyota. Just as it would for me to make love to you right here," his voice was now ragged with desired. He had crossed a line, his self-control disintegrated. Any sense of decorum or restraint had simply been caught by the storm, torn and scattered into the darkness. He considered she might leave him at any moment, repulsed by his behavior; his career, joining decorum and restraint, would be carried off into the bleak nothingness, too.

She pressed her hand against his, "No. Not here." Spock suddenly considered her words. 'Was she suggesting I make love to her elsewhere, or simply agreeing with my analysis?' he froze, unsure as how to proceed. Nyota stepped forward, her body firmly flush with his; his embarrassment now apparent. Rising up on her toes, she whispered against his lips, "Are our hearts not the same?" She pressed his free hand to her chest; he could feel the strong muscle racing under his touch. "No, Nyota, they are not. They are also different," he watched her frown slightly at his statement, her face momentarily illuminated by another flash of lightning. He brought the hand resting on her chest to his hip; then pushed it upward. Her eyes grew wide, "Okay...different. I get it." She pulled her hand free from his and then grasped his now drenched sweater. She maneuvered her hand under the hem, sliding it over his skin softly, finding his heartbeat. Spock gasped at the delightful invasion of his personal space, her hand stroking his burning flesh.

Nyota's lips brushed his, tentatively at first. He could no longer suppress his want for her, "Nyota, we cannot...at least not here." He spoke in broken syllables, not wanting to break the contact between them. "Spock...please..." she pressed the length of her body against him, grinding her hips into his; she moaned into his mouth upon finding the evidence of his desire. He gripped the sides of he face, cradling it, deepening their kiss before releasing her entirely, "We must be discrete; it is already past curfew for you." She threw her head back, laughing boldly, "Spock, I am pretty sure Regulations staged-left right about the time you forcibly put Cadet Kirk in his seat." He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was lost when she suddenly palmed the apparent erection constricted by his pants, "Let us return to your loggings, Commander." Her voice mocked his usual stiff tone. Another white flash filled the sky, and Spock considered that he might be embarking on his final, fatal voyage as he followed his siren into the night.


	6. Chapter 6 Lightning

Chapter Six – Lightning

The journey through the rain seemed much longer on the return. Spock's head was dizzied by unanswered questions and the disobedient part of him simply wanted to stop thinking altogether – to redistribute resources elsewhere. Nyota was pulling him by the hand, coursing through the now vacant streets. The heavy rain fell in large, hard drops. It was like running through a wall of water. 'Were my intentions so transparent in the dining hall?' Spock wondered. He thought of his careless display of territorialism, then shook the memory from his head.

Slowing his pace, he pulled Nyota towards his body – hard. Wrapping his arms around her, his lips sought hers. The contact of his skin against hers could only be described as electric. Millions of tiny sparks seemed to dance across his flesh. Hot white flashes of lightning filled the otherwise pitch-black night, and Spock felt intuitively connected to the tumultuous weather. He watched her as they shared a long, passionate kiss. He found himself unable to suppress a moan as she nipped his lower lip with her small, sharp teeth. Her eyes were closed; long lashes lay gently on her cheeks. Overexposed from the lightning strikes, Nyota looked like a perfect form carved from fine marble, her skin smooth and stretched taught over her delicate bone structure. Spock pressed more firmly against her mouth, allowing his eyes to slip close as well. Hot red warmth spread to his limbs, fingers and ever swelling arousal. Energy from the earth below and the storm above seemed to fill every fiber of his body, joining his essence with hers.

She pulled free, "We should really keep moving." Nyota's voice was breathy and dark; Spock finally felt at ease with his own want. "Yes, of course," he agreed. Once more she yanked him by the arm, pulling him in the direction of the hotel. He knew it was selfish, but he could feel the desire running through her veins. Her fingers felt as tuning forks, vibrating with the most intense sensation of female sexuality. A stray thought entered his mind, brimming with vanity, 'It's all for me. Tonight, she's all for me.' Spock did not often allow himself to indulge in such animalistic behavior; however, this was all so different. The more primitive Vulcan aspects of his personality were surfacing and he liked it. The hunger in his heart, his katra and his hips burned more brightly than any flame.

The hotel stood large and obtuse among the small seaside properties. A halo of yellow glowed against the ink-stained night, casting a beacon into the pulsing sky. Nyota stopped abruptly under a streetlamp just opposite the garish building. Spock understood immediately her concern. Even in the low light he could see her impatience. He slipped his hand into his pocket, struggling against the soaking wet fabric. He growled as the wool trapped his fingers, limiting his dexterity. After a frustratingly long moment he was met with success, and produced his room key. He held it high and leaned close to her face, "Enter through the pool-side, my room is very close: just a few floors above. I will walk through the front door and meet you in my room. If you want to recant your decision, this would be the best time to do so."

He knew his self-control was severely impeded and did not want to commit any further infractions, although he suspected there were very few Regulations left to befoul. She didn't answer; rather she snatched the key from his hand and pressed a hard, bruising kiss to his lips. Nyota ran quickly, ducking to the left where Spock knew she would be en route to the side entrance. He took a deep breath, smoothed down his rain drenched hair and ventured across the vacant street.

Upon entering the hotel Spock praised himself for his forethought strategy. Several officers were sitting in the lounge, loudly telling more stories. It was clear many of them had been enjoying concoctions from the bar. He failed to recall the name of the officer approaching him, he knew it, but his brain seemed to be too sex-addled to remember. "Commander, come join us. You look like you could use a drink. Forget your umbrella?" he was a jolly man, but he was impeding his journey. "Thank you, but I must decline. It is not in my nature to partake in the drinking of alcohol. I am going to take my leave of you all...good evening," Spock gave a courteous nod the group and proceeded to his room.

Dark and soaked, the Commander felt rather out of place in the warm, brightly lit hotel. His boots squeaked viciously against the smooth tiled floor, trailing the evening rain with him. Climbing the stairs, he felt more at ease: the less attention drawn to his actions, the better. His stomach was still coiled tight, but his fear of censure was decreasing. Rounding the final corner, Spock resolved tonight would be completely different than all those that came before. He stood before his door for a moment, preparing for what awaited him inside; pushing it open he confirmed with himself, 'Tonight will be completely different.'


	7. Chapter 7 Vortex

Chapter Seven – Vortex

The room was stark black and gray except for faint glow from the balcony. The French doors had been pushed wide open, sheer white curtains undulating like surrendering flags in the treacherous wind. The silhouette of palm trees scarred the night, their long fronds tearing across the sky. Spock reached behind him, pushed the door completely closed and secured the latch. His eyes glanced about the room, orienting himself with his surroundings in the darkness. He crouched low, unfastening his boots and freeing himself of their confines. Weight shifting on the carpet drew his attention immediately. He straightened himself quickly, but did not have enough time to brace himself for impact.

Nyota rushed forward, grasping his head, her lips hungrily devouring his. Inertia sent them tumbling backwards into the small table by the door. It tilted awkwardly beneath them resting on only two legs, balanced against the wall by its decorative trim. The lamp shade crumbled behind Spock, the base had fallen to the floor. He smoothed his hands down her thighs, grasping them firmly just below the bottom crease of her buttocks and dragging her up against his body.

While waiting for his arrival she apparently had freed herself from the heavy sweater and trousers from earlier; knowing Nyota had been waiting in his room barely clothed only fueled Spock's arousal. He pulled her to him, grinding his painful hardness against her heat. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting through the heavy sweater. Her mouth pressed fast, open kisses against his chin, following the line of his jaw until she met her destination. Spock inhaled deeply, knowing what was coming next, although he could not have anticipated the intensity.

Nyota caught his earlobe between her teeth, flicking it with her tongue. He could not contain the growl, it was harsh and loud. Her body tensed and he feared she would leave him now that she could see him for what he truly was. Instead she ground against him, moaning breathily into his ear, "Vulcan..." Pulling one hand free, he grabbed the back of her neck, yanking her mouth from his ear. His Vulcan ears were very sensitive, and it seemed sometimes the nerves were directly connected to his penis. She was pushing him hard and fast into oblivion. "Nyota, you need to understand I will soon be unable to control myself. It is our way...I desire to possess you, all of you," he kissed her roughly; "...I need to hear you scream my name." She squeezed her thighs around his waist, rubbing against him again, "Then I give myself to you, Spock." He couldn't recall more sober-sounding words.

A rush of wind hurdled into the room, splashes of water damping the carpet. The powerful surge from the rain – from Nyota – made his heart race faster; his head was swimming in sensation. The siren in his hands was grinding her hot, moist softness against the aching tightness in his slacks. Nothing in his experience prepared him for her erotic ministrations. "Nyota, please..." he begged as he crudely bucked against her, "I can't control..." She laughed soft and dark against his mouth. "Spock, let go of your control. I want you just as you are," she slipped her hand between them. Nyota released the button there, and Spock gasped against her. As she dragged the zipped along the seam, she slipped her fingers inside the gaped fabric. Grasping his clothed erection firmly, she whispered, "I want all of you."

Spock howled at the contact, every fiber of fabric seemed to be stretched uncomfortably tight across his skin. He gathered Nyota into his arms, like she were some sacred artifact. He relished the warmth of her, mixing with his uncontrollable heat. As he placed her on the edge of the bed, the light from the open door provided more illumination. The tiny white camisole and panties drew harsh shapes across her dark, glowing skin. Nyota's eyes were wide, and Spock could feel their shared hunger as his fingers brushed against her face tenderly. Another flash of lightning cut across the night; white-violet luminescence filled the room.

She grabbed his hand, kissing the tips of his fingers, "Spock, I have no idea what is happening here, but I want it – all of it!" she sucked his index finger into her hot mouth. She was pushing him again. He let his mouth fall open, gasping for a breath of air, pulling his hand away; his fingers were as sensitive as his ears. Reaching over his head, he grasped the wet sweater, and the turtleneck underneath. Yanking upward he pulled the offending garments from his body; the air was cool and moist against his burning skin. Nyota leaned forward, dipping her fingers inside of his opened pants, pulling them down slightly; his still clothed erection sprung embarrassing stiff before him. She looked him intensely and then her fingers ventured into the waistband of his briefs. Spock inhaled, preparing for the cool rush about to assail his over-sensitized flesh.

A sly smile crept across Nyota's as she looked up at him. She closed her mouth over the head of his penis, sucking him tenderly; Spock's head rolled languidly, wondering if she realized how dangerous the loss of his restraint could be. It was like being submerged, he thought, the strange sensation of her hot mouth and damp fabric. Logic would indicate it should be duller; rather the added texture and the salacious impatience of her actions were even more enticing. Then she released him from her mouth; her hands abruptly pulled his remaining clothing from his hips.

Light filled the room again, and the storm outside roared like a train racing dangerously to some unknown destination. An elegant hand closed around the root of his pale, flushed shaft and she giggled quietly, "Green is different. Definitely Vulcan; definitively...different." Nyota smirked, curiously eyeing him again; her lips descending to engulf him. 'Possessed by the most beautiful siren,' Spock mused, losing himself in her touch. There was no purchase, though, his hands sought desperately for something tangible. His fingers grazed the back of her head tentatively, but she pushed them away. She swirled her tongue in tight, intentional rhythm, then swallowed him entirely. Again, Spock unconsciously threaded his fingers through her hair. Then she pulled her mouth from him, "No. Control." Her defiance was beginning to frustrate him. She leaned forward to take him into her mouth again, but he shoved her back roughly, crawling onto the bed with her.

He stalked up her body, seeking the hem of her shirt. His voice was low and dangerous, "As you wish." The fabric seemed to disintegrate under his hands, shreds of fabric passing between his fingers. Her hips bucked in response. 'She will be my undoing,' Spock mused. He dragged his hands down the length of her body, watching the skin pebble and flush. Once he met the edge of her panties, he permitted himself another quirk of his eyebrow before shredding the last remaining barrier between them. The smell of her, which had been dizzying before was now suffocating. His lungs were filling with _Nyota_. Small hands were branding trails of fire up his arms, across his shoulders and down his chest, "So beautiful," the words slipped lazily from her lips.

He shuddered as one hand brushed his cheek. "Nyota, please. That is something...dangerous," her fingers were too close. "Explain it to me, Spock. What are you so afraid of?" she pushed aimlessly at the hair hanging over his forehead. He lowered himself onto his elbows, bringing their bodies painfully closer together, his erection resting heavily against her hip. His fingertips grazed her face, tracing the delicate features, "Nyota, Vulcans do not mate often. I am sure you know this from the little documentation of our culture. I am torn between my human sexual desires, and my Vulcan need to join with you in the more...conventional way." She cocked her head, "Spock, are you saying you want to meld with me?"

Spock blinked and his eyebrows ascended unconsciously. "Nyota how do you know about such things?" he demanded. "I am a thorough researcher. That's why I'm your best student," her other hand had slipped lower, teasing his hard flesh. Spock froze, her words shaking him, "Nyota I..." She rose up on her forearms, kissing his lower lip softly, "Don't. I'd rather not think about the penalties for seducing my professor."


	8. Chapter 8 Typhoon

Chapter Eight - Typhoon

She had taken responsibility for the whole night, and it was overwhelming. He kissed her face, licking a thin line to her ear, sucking the lobe between his lips. Her hips ground into his as she moaned unabashedly. Nyota pulled her knees up, cradling Spock's weight; the head of his penis was brushing vulgarly at her entrance. He could smell her more strongly, and he hungered to taste her. Sliding down her body, he settled before her temple. He had hoped to be patient, but she was simply intoxicating. Every fiber of his body surged with need as his mouth descended on her delicate lips. Rubbing his nose against her swollen clitoris, he relished the sounds slipping from her mouth. Moisture poured from her and Spock set out to hear her scream his name; to satisfy a more basic desire.

Drawing a long path with the flat of his tongue, and then teasing the tiny nub, Spock sought a maddening rhythm. He noted what contact would produce the desired result; calculating the ideal approach. The rapid flicking of Nyota's clitoris followed by another long, sweeping lick would send shuddering spasms along the tight line of her smooth thighs. After another round of this deliberate torture and her thighs crushed against his face involuntarily. Freely Spock allowed himself to chuckle. Slipping one finger inside of her burning tightness, he was rewarded with a powerful rush of moisture. Adding a second digit his mouth clasped onto her clitoris once more.

Nyota's hips were pumping in rhythm, seeking more contact from him. Undulating tremors coursed along the walls of her vagina. His fingers curled upward, pressing firmly as he tugged her delicate nub hard between his lips. The nonsense emanating from her open mouth became louder. Spock began to recognize some of the more vulgar syllables, rubbing his buried fingers in deep, ardent circles against the secret source of her pleasure. With another twitch of his fingers, Nyota's hips slammed against his hand, his name tore from her lips; pleading. And then it was done. Her body slumped into the mattress, sweat glistening on her skin in the light of the bright gleaming storm beyond the balcony.

Wafts of Nyota's fragrance surrounded Spock's head, his face covered in the evidence of her crushing orgasm. He watched her intently for several moments, basking in the success of his efforts. Her eyes opened slowly, looking at him intensely through the velvety darkness. Once he had her attention, he sucked his dripping fingers into his mouth, savoring her fascinating taste. Her hips bucked unconsciously, her hands outstretched, beckoning to him. He pulled the phalanges free, removing every last taste of her, and grasped her outstretched hand. "Please, Spock. Come here," the words were still shaky in her afterglow.

He stretched along her body, relishing the silken texture of her skin. His fingers traced whisper soft along the line of her hair, her ear, but as his fingers trailed across her face, she placed her hand over his. "Spock, I want all of you...and to give you all of me," her words were just as sober as before. He rolled atop her, positioning himself to join with Nyota – both physically and mentally. Once more her knees bent to adjust to his weight. "If you are certain, Nyota," Spock needed to be sure. This was not to be taken lightly. She pressed her face more firmly against his hand, "Yes."

A deep breath of air filled his lungs as his eyes slipped closed; the heavy scent of the raging storm and Nyota's fierce arousal filled the gaps between every synapse in his being. Blue sparks of recognition coursed through his fingers and into his katra as Spock crept into her consciousness. Her soul accepted him with an openness and affection he never anticipated. It was as though he were falling – consumed – by the gravity of her love. As she arched against him, demanding his body to join with hers, she was everywhere. For the first time he understood: this had never been about a student with an illogical "crush" on her unobtainable professor. She was like him; her academic excellence and intellectual talents left her as alone and isolated as he. This had nothing to do with power or authority; she was as in love with him as he was with her. Tonight there were no titles or honoraries; he was a man and she was a woman. They had come together for the first time, just as the culmination of the heavens and sea were manifested into the torrential tempest beckoning outside the open balcony door.

The head of his erection pressed into her slightly, and she sighed heavily. Her need was tangible, like the downy softness of feathers against the most intimate of his thoughts. With his free hand he grasped her hip, urging his length deeper. Tipping her knees outward she accepted him: his body, his katra... all that was human, Vulcan, and the gradations in between. Pride flooded his senses and he lunged forward, desperately filling every inch of her. The warm, wet softness yielded to him. Hot, needy want pulled him deeper into her. Before the end of the night he would prove himself worthy to be called "hers."

Finding the link between them strong, he removed his fingers from her face. Gripping her hips firmly with both hands this time, he pounded into her, his rhythm syncing with the roaring torrents tugging at the curtains. It was not beyond Spock's understanding there was an undeniable connection between his lust and the demanding rage of the hurricane slamming against the hotel's walls. Nyota rolled her pelvis more assertively against his, the center of her desire grinding between them. She was seeking a much needed release; Spock thought it illogical to deny her.

He pulled away from Nyota, his penis slipping from her body. His lover cried in protest, like an animal wounded. Tucking his feet beneath his body, Spock crudely grabbed her ankle, pulling her to him. Two intensely dark eyes met his as he looked deeply into her for the first time since he had kissed her on the street. His heart swelled, knowing there would be no other entity that could elicit such a sense of belonging within him. Tugging at her with his fingers, digging demandingly into the soft pliancy of her hips, he pulled her into his lap. Spock plundered into her once more.

Her legs wrapped around him as he thrust upward. Her fingers threaded through his hair, her head tossed backwards, crying his name. A violent gust from the storm burst into the room, frigid rain drops smattering across their skin. The contrast from their shared heat and the icy water was tremendous. Suddenly he felt himself being gripped by her tight, fiery walls; the strength of her orgasm forcing the air from his chest. Her climax hungrily grasped his length. Her body and mind were devouring him, and Spock felt worthy to be her meal. A familiar tightness began to coil in his belly and Spock drove deeper into his lover. Nyota's next climax shook her body and his; she threw her arms around his neck, holding him in a desperate embrace as though the sheer force of their shared pleasure would propel her into the universe.

A thought edged into Spock's mind from the primitive, territorial part of his personality. He tried to quench the rambling mantra, 'she's mine, she's mine,' but the urging of the animal inside won over. Throwing his head back, he howled, lurching forward against Nyota's thrashing form. Her nails scraped the soft skin along his spine, shoving the last remaining semblance of sanity from his mind. A wild course of torrential rain broke through the open balcony door as he sunk his teeth into the tender curve of her shoulder. She shattered again, dragging him into the ethereal void of ecstasy. A hot flash of white seared his mind as he groaned crudely, flooding her womb. Their bodies slumped ungracefully into the softness of the mattress. Somewhere through the dense fog of his climax, Spock felt Nyota roll against his body – and in his thoughts. He believed he felt her smile against his chest before succumbing to the weight of slumber.


	9. Chapter 9 Calm

Chapter Nine – Calm

The cool yellow dawn made its presence known, slipping beneath Spock's eyelids. An unusual warmth curling against his chest pulled him swiftly from his placid reverie. He rose up onto his elbows. A heavy mass of dark hair, tangled from sex and rain splayed over the pristine white surface of the hotel sheets. She felt so tiny tucked into the curve of his body. Spock tenderly ran a fingertip along the shell of Nyota's ear, along her bruised shoulder and around her elbow; she hardly stirred in response.

His thoughts wandered to the Vulcan "favinit" he once found in the early morning on his home planet. A rare rain shower had fallen the previous night over the usually arid city of ShiKahr. Morning brought with it a temporary Paradise and Spock, a curious fifteen year old boy, had ventured out before his parents had emerged for the day. Growing from the protection of an upturned rock, the brilliant bloom stood in defiance of the harsh climate. Carefully Spock had caressed the elegant orchid-like flower, admiring the downy texture of the faintly striped petals. As the hot sun rose in the morning sky, it had become apparent to the young Vulcan the fragile gift would lose its life force quickly. Illogically he plucked it from its then exposed home. Secretly Spock had preserved it in his treasured copy of _Walden_, where the fragile, papery flower still remained tucked between the pages.

Sighing heavily Spock considered their situation as he settled back into the mattress. The bed was terribly rumpled, the sheet yanked from the all four corners. The small table by the door was teetering on two legs; and the ivory lampshade was crushed against the bottom supports. A waterlogged trail of clothing coursed a hectic path to the edge of the bed; a stray sock precariously perched on a discarded pillow. He could smell the moisture from the wetted carpet in front of the still open balcony doors. The heavy dampness clung to aftermath of the previous night.

Rain tumbled gently onto the smooth surface of the balcony, the concrete punctuated with deep puddles. Spock knew he'd eventually have to clean up the wreckage, but for the moment he was more interested in preserving the memory of this morning. It was impossible for Spock not to consider the words of another man blindly consumed by his love of a woman. The heavy words of Pablo Neruda played against the tempered dawn:

'..._You are taken in the net of my music, my love, and my nets of music are wide as the sky. My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning. In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.'_

Weight shifted next to him, and as his eyes glanced over he was greeted by a wide, sleepy smile. Nyota wiggled closer, seeking more warmth in the chilled morning. "Mmm, how long have you been awake?" she asked, her lips tickling his chest hair. Rolling over towards her, Spock wrapped his body around hers, providing her with as much heat as possible. "Only a few moments, ashayam," he responded without hesitation, pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head. She jerked her face upward, eyes demanding and moist. Spock knew he may have pushed too far, but given how many Regulations had been crushed under the previous night's lovemaking, he saw no further loss could be wrought.

Her mouth parted, but not a single syllable emerged. He brushed a thumb over her cheek and over her lower lip, kissing her brow. She shifted more tightly against his body, her face pressed into his chest. A hot spark, violet-blue burst into something tangible within his katra. He considered this is what Terrans meant by one being caught beneath another's skin. A tiny voice whispered just audible to his Vulcan ears, "Nash ashau-veh, **k'hat'n'dlawa**."

Spock released a breath he did not realize he had been holding. Her words were more than a simple declaration of love in his native language; she felt his presence in her soul and he felt her in his katra. It was then he knew his doubts were completely illogical. He gently tilted her chin so he could look at her, so she could see into him. She placed her fingers on his cheek, and he mirrored her actions. Spock felt their essences meld until there were no more boundaries, no more walls. He placed his free hand over the spot she had directed him to last night, her heart pounding steady against him. Nyota smiled, her fingers trailing over his heart as well. A moment passed, and soon they both understood: whatever would come after that day was irrelevant. Somehow, in spite of it all, two halves of a single heart had found each other.


End file.
